


Dancing in the Rain

by chai_and_coffee



Series: Shallura Week 2018 [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Businesswoman Allura, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rain!, Shallura Week, Shallura Week 2018, Writer Shiro, prosthetic, shallura - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chai_and_coffee/pseuds/chai_and_coffee
Summary: A stern businesswoman finds herself at odds when the cold, icy persona she puts up refuses to melt away.Luckily for her, a man with swirling gray eyes and the cutest dimple in his cheek knows what to do.(A Modern AU, featuring the cliche of dancing in the rain! <3)Written for lead | follow for Shallura Week!





	Dancing in the Rain

She’s not really sure how she got here. Just a few hours, she had been sitting in a business meeting, her knuckles white against the pen she was this close to breaking, her eyes icy in the face of a possible competitor. 

 

Allura didn’t do losing. That wasn’t her thing.

 

She was who she was because of the fact that she didn’t lose. She was absolutely perfect, and everyone knew it. From the straightness of her posture, to the neat, manicured nails, she was perfect. She didn’t become the business tycoon of Wall Street by losing. 

 

It wasn’t in her definition. 

 

Not only that, the woman was born to **_lead_**. Most wavered at her cold expressions, but the leader was more than that. The solitary figure was fair, understanding, despite her scary exterior. The people of her company looked up to her, respected her. Almost everyone did really, except for the old, white men who couldn’t handle the fact that a young, colored woman in her 20s was the one running the ship.

 

No one had ever seen the young woman in something other than a pantsuit, or a skirt, or…you get the drift. Western Business Attire was her style. When she worked, she worked longer and later than anyone. When she got upset, there was no one angrier than she was. She never yelled or anything, but the fire in her eyes and the quiet enunciation of her words indicated a lot about her emotions. 

 

There was a lot about her habits that the people of her office knew about her. But at the same time, very little knew her. It contributed to the shroud of mystery the young businesswoman wore.

 

The drive home was when she melted from her businesswoman persona into herself, the real Allura. 

 

Her reasoning was simple. As a woman, and a colored one, she had to work thrice as hard as anyone to make a name for herself and gain the respect. If she maintained herself as such, then people would respect her. She couldn’t be the dorky, young woman that she really was when she was at work. 

 

Besides, her cold personality helped herself focus. 

 

But today’s drive home was a bit different. It took a bit longer for her to melt back into that personality, and as the rain pattered steadily on the windshield, she realized that she was still stuck in her business woman persona. 

 

This wasn’t the first time, it had happened before. But she didn’t get why she was so upset. 

 

As the rain fell endlessly, causing traffic to be even slower, she thought back and reflected on the day’s events. Sure, there was that incident in the business meeting where someone had questioned her tactics that got her very mad in the moment, but that had happened before. It was normal. Why was she still hung up over it?

 

The cold personality persisted even when she stalked into the house, even when she changed into comfier clothes and tried to relax. She found herself being too stiff, unable to relax, her mind completely focused on what had happened in today’s meeting. 

 

Okay, this wasn’t working. Maybe she needed to walk around. She looked around at the walls of her house and knew immediately that the confined space wasn’t going to do much for her mood. The soft drizzle of rain answered her question. 

 

Wearing only her Harvard T-shirt and leggings, she walked outside. She didn’t exactly know where to go, but her legs commanded and she obeyed. She crossed her arms during some point as a futile attempt to keep the liquid from seeping into her skin. She didn’t mind it, really, possibly because she didn’t quite realize it. 

 

Eventually, her thoughts guided her to the park, where she sat on an already-wet park bench. What the hell, she was already soaked, so might as well.

 

She sat as though it was just another regular sunny day, and that was it. She didn’t realize that she had been so immersed in her thoughts until a man on his knee looked up at her expectantly. 

 

What was he doing, proposing? The thought seemed ridiculous, and it jolted her reverie. It finally registered in her mind that he was asking her a question. 

 

“Sorry?” She managed to get out.

 

“Dance with me.” The man’s eyes, right above a pink scar, gleamed in the gloomy weather. They were a sort of gray, grayer than the clouds, which swirled and sparkled with such an intensity that it nearly sent her back to her original musings. 

 

“—What?” She said, as if she hadn’t heard him right the first time. 

 

“Dance with me.” He insisted, still kneeling in that stupid position, wearing the most adorable grin. 

 

She could have said no a thousand ways. She could have complained that she didn’t know him, or that she didn’t want to.

 

But something inside her made her straighten up and say, “Okay.” 

 

She took his outstretched hand, and let him pull her up to face him. His hands were a warm weight on her waist and hand. One seemed a bit colder than the other, and when she looked down to see their joined hands, she was pleasantly surprised to see a gray tint to the skin, marking a prosthetic. His other hand was nice and warm, settling comfortably on her waist, a soft curl to his hand. 

 

They danced as though they were Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, smooth steps that marked one of a higher class. He twirled her under the misting rain, and was sure to return her to his steady hold every time. 

 

“Why are we dancing?” Allura asked a bit hesitantly. 

 

“You had this look on your face. I had that look once, actually. Just a few months ago, My boyfriend broke up with me, and well, I was sitting there. And for some reason, the only thought that echoed in my mind was that I really wanted to dance.” The man said, a smile playing at the edges. 

 

“I wasn’t thinking about wanting to dance, though.” She said, wincing at how it sounded. 

 

The smile he flashed down at her was dazzling, and it made her step imperceptibly falter for half a second before regaining its usual rhythm.

 

“Right, but by dancing, you aren’t thinking about whatever you were thinking about before.” He winked, and she couldn’t help but let her lips raise in a grin as an answer. 

 

It might have been hours, it might have minutes, but she didn’t know. Time seemed to flow beautifully. The only conversation after that was just the exchanging of names, (he seemed to shiver when she said ‘Takashi’ perfectly), but afterwards, it was just comfortable silence. He was pretty content to twirl her around under the canopy of the leafy trees and the storming sky. 

 

He let her go with a sort of reluctance that made her cheeks burn, and despite the fact that they had exchanged contacts, the excitement of seeing one another in person lingered. 

 

It was only when she reached home and bundled up that she realized that he had completely managed to take her mind off the issue and melt her back into herself. 

 

The dreary weather persisted, and despite others’ complaints, Allura never took them for their worth. Instead she shared secret smiles with the raging sky, as if both were in on a secret that only they knew. 

 

She didn’t have a chance to text him all throughout the week, but when she did, it was clear that they were going to dance. 

 

They met at an actual studio this time, with hardwood floors and everything. She actually stretched herself on a wooden bar, feeling nostalgic for when her father had signed her up for ballet when she was younger. 

 

“You’re thinking about something.” He was the one to break the silence after a few minutes of getting her warm and ready. 

 

“Just—thinking about where you picked this up.” She fibbed, hoping that it was good enough of a cover.

 

Apparently it wasn’t.“I was in Special Forces. We had to be skilled with a uniform and a gun. I took a class, figured that it would get me more attention if I didn’t have two left feet. But I’m sure that’s not really what’s on your mind, Allura.” He said simply, no judgement in his voice. 

 

She looked at him for a moment, (he had just leaned her gently down into a dip), and sighed, before explanining the situation where her motives had been questioned earlier. 

 

He listened, and only spoke when she was finished ranting. 

 

“Well, it shouldn’t be like that. You’ve already worked so hard to get the recognition you deserve, you shouldn’t be questioned like that just because you’re not the apparent societal norm for a leader.” 

 

The response was so flawlessly phrased that Allura actually had to stop and stare at him in wonderment. 

 

“Yes!” She finally said, when her shock had melted away. “Exactly!”

 

He didn’t say anything, but grinned that little smirk where his dimple appeared, and it was so cute and boyish that she could have kissed him then and there. 

 

She didn’t, of course, but she did accept his offer of his outstretched arm and resume dancing. 

 

This sort of arrangement continued. Sort of….a friends-with-benefits relationship, except they danced instead of having sex, and it was a stress relief for them. He told her about his problems too, talking about how he still had a few terrors and it was getting increasingly hard to find a job that he actually liked. 

 

The meeting places moved from the dance studio, to the park, and finally, to her home. 

 

It was in her kitchen where he would spin her, the hum of the oven in the background, the sauces filling the air in preparation for their shared dinner. 

 

Sometimes they took it slow. Sometimes, they didn’t whirl and spin like it was their last night together. Some nights, he held her close, her head resting on his chest, and swayed. Simple movements, but all theirs. Those were the nights where he snuck soft little kisses to the crown of her head, the nights where she closed her eyes to listen to his heart. 

 

Some nights, it would be more conversation than dance. Those were the nights he told her about his ex-boyfriend, Adam, who had loved him, but in the end couldn’t handle the terrors associated with the price tag of his love. Those were the nights where she talked about the struggle of rising from the lowest of low to the top, and what it took to stay there. 

 

Soon his presence was a constant, and their dance melted into every part of their lives. There was the little dance he did when he spun her and asked her to taste whatever he was concocting on the wooden spoon. There was the little dance she did when she squealed and tried to avoid his tickling hands. 

 

There was the little dance he did when she scrambled up onto his lap and pressed soft kisses to the dimple in his cheek she adored so much. 

 

There was the dance they did when a furry companion joined their little family, bright eyes and sniffling nose, wagging tail at their feet. (They loved that dog, and loved that he even did a little wiggle dance when he was excited.)

 

And even now, as she looks up at her husband under the soft glow of the streetlamps, and as he looks down at her with a smile that says that he knows exactly what she’s thinking, she knows that this is it. Even as he guides her into a small twirl, right there, on the sidewalk, she knows that she is the one for him, and he is the one for her. 

 

Because, as long as he is leading, she is content to **_follow_**. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave me a comment, tell me what you thought!
> 
> drop a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> catch me on tumblr: @chai-and-coffee


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